Whispered Promises
by madzcool
Summary: "I long sly smirk creeps across his face, contorting it until it's disgusting and tainted like his eyes. We are clearly over with games now. We are done with whispered promises and wishes, we are at the point I've been building up to for my entire existence. 'You get one month.' He says. 'One month to capture his heart and if you don't, I get your soul." Destiel, rated T
1. Chapter 1

Whispered Promises

I like to watch the mortals. The others often tell me that it isn't good for my health. That when I watch that spinning ball of dirt teeming with pain and war and violence that it takes a part of me with it. A small part each time, leaving me a bit more hallow.  
I can't help it, it's all so fascinating; these mortals that are so weak and fragile, like pencil lead that I could snap with the flick of my finger. No matter how meaningless and empty their lives may seem they always manage to fill every one of their actions with passion.  
whether it is a young women crying out during orgasm or a mother sobbing over the child she will never have, humanity is filled with it. It's brimming, overflowing at the sides, oozing from every pore.  
A man drinking himself to death in an ally, a twelve year old stealing a pack of gum from a convenience store, a women having an affair with one of her students, everything is exploding with it. This raw emotion, this need for acceptance, this PASSION.  
It's disgusting and insane and bizarre and beautiful and interesting and no matter how hard I try I can't stop watching. No matter how many other's tell me to. No matter how badly I WANT to.  
I do sometimes. I stop for entire weeks. Months even. But it's like this addiction, gnawing and churning and clinging to my skin, begging me to just take one little peak. The longer I wait the harder it gets to breathe, surrounded by suffocating peace and apathy, I crave the chaos like a fish to water. It's like a brick of lead settled in my stomach pulling at me and aching and hallowing me out until I just take one little glance and then it all lifts away.  
Down in those streets littered with shining lights and souls, real living souls, loving and betraying and fighting and breeding and drinking and creating and it's all just so overwhelming and impossible and how could anyone not be expected to want to watch?  
I never thought it would get this bad. I never thought I would fall so far.

_But you haven't fallen, have you?_  
A voice whispers into the ear I don't really have.

'No. No I haven't."

It becomes a cycle. I wander the streets with my eyes, pretending to hear the scuff of my feet on the pavement. The feet that I don't really have.  
I watch. I listen.  
The cries of pain, the silent prayers to a God not listening, the deep moans of two lovers intertwined, the laughter of a small child as she is pushed on the swing at the playground by her house. She likes to pretend that right at the top, right before the swing hurtles back down towards her father's waiting arms, right when she is almost level with the sky, that she will just fly up, up, up, until she is in heaven.  
Everywhere I look, all I see, is passion.  
It all just tastes so bittersweet.

Then comes the next part, when I pull away, I tell myself that it's unhealthy, that it isn't what Father would want. But Father doesn't really want much of anything anymore, does he?  
I tell myself it's not what I want. The lie tastes sour, like milk just past its expiration date on my nonexistent tongue.

I really try. Sometimes only for a few hours, but I do try.

It's only a matter of time until that aching starts again. The suffocation and the pulling and the WANT and I crawl back to them. The delicate impossible mortals beneath us that are more interesting than everything in my endless sight.

It all stops though, on that odd, impossible day. That day when I first see him.  
'his eyes are like the forest' Is the first thing I thought.  
Their bright and intricate and teeming with life but the deeper you get the darker they seem and you find more things hidden within them.

when I saw those eyes I suddenly seemed to forget those paved streets with the shining lights, and the lovers, and the little girl on the swing. When I saw those eyes it was like they were all that was left and all that there ever were.  
The way they brighten and shine and bring the whole world with them and the way they darken and churn in this abyss that makes them look like they could turn me to stone.  
But, my favorite time to look at his eyes, are when he thinks that no one is looking. It's that time of night, when he is sprawled out on the couch and his brother is fast asleep, nothing but the eerie glow of the television flitting across his face. There is a half empty can of beer warm and forgotten on the table beside him and his fingers twitch and rub at the smooth glazed plastic of the remote in his hands.  
I always know that it's going to happen when his fingers start twitching like that.  
Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes change. His eyebrows scrunch downwards and pull in. His eyes are distant and shining and the images of smiling faces and laugh tracks buzz in my mind like wasps as I watch, entranced.  
Worry. His eyes are clouded, swirling with it, next comes anger, bubbling and all consuming, then, finally, pain. He is racked with it, drones of it pouring off of him in waves. I can feel tears stinging and burning the eyes I don't really have while his faces remains dry.  
Those eyes, those eyes that are more alive than any forest, are hallow and empty. He is so far gone, somewhere so much deeper then I can even imagine. Somewhere buried so deep in a hidden crevis of his mind that not even I will ever be able to see it in the light.  
And then it's over. His eyebrows lift and the forest comes back, growing and changing and living, and he pulls himself off the couch and he gets another beer. He laughs at the smiling faces on the TV screen and he sings along to the 80's rock music, but I always notice that there is something missing. A tiny part of him that is still left in that dark place. Maybe it's the same with me. Maybe we both need to stop.  
But neither of us do.

His eyes aren't the only thing I like about him.  
His laugh is beautiful. It's like a hundred wedding bells chiming, warm and welcoming, like an old friend calling your name, when that sound pours from his mouth it's like no other sound ever really mattered. No words or proclamations or orders, all there was, all there is, is that laugh.  
I like the way his skin crinkles around his eyes and the way those forests dance with some sort of joke that no one else will ever really get. Not even me.

I like his hands as well. They are rough and calloused from the weapons he is forced to use and stained with the blood he has been forced to shed. Tainted with the lives he carries with him every step he takes.  
Despite their size they are able to perform incredibly intricate tasks. Like when he is fiddling with the small machinery under the hood of his precious Impala. Polishing the metal more gently than he treats his own kin. Smiling with ease at the familiarity and feeling of control.

His name is Dean, I realize one day. I can't help but laugh that I've never taken the time to notice until now.  
Dean.  
It's sounds funny on my imaginary tongue. It sort of rolls of and hangs in the air like a question. Just bobbing around and begging to be answered.  
My name is Castiel. That is what my Father named me anyway. Well, everyone's Father really.  
Names always seemed a bit pointless to me. Like masks we use to shield ourselves or titles bestowed on us that don't quite fit.  
But it's still nice to know for some reason.  
Dean.  
I think I like his name better than mine.

I could watch him for hours. In fact, I do. I watch him for days, and weeks. Memorizing every twitch of his jaw and the way he bites his bottom lip when he's concentrating and the way he pretends not to know facts sometimes to make other people feel smarter. The way he meticulously packs his bags of salt, like every grain will save a life, which I suppose in some cases, it does. The way he grins cockily at himself in the mirror and the way he hums songs I know only from him singing under his breath. What jokes he laughs at on the TV and the things that his brother says that make him shift in just a way that I know he's worried.  
I watch and I listen and I memorize until every inch of my being is filled with him. I'm overflowing with him, my senses drowning and breathing in his every movement and breath until it's too overwhelming but I still keep watching.

I didn't mean for it to get this far. I didn't mean to fall.  
_But you haven't fallen. H-_  
'Have I' I finish wordlessly.

I'm not sure when it happened, I'm not even sure when I realize it, but suddenly it's there and it's real and there is nothing I can do about it.  
This isn't enough anymore.

Those words play in my head over and over, ringing in my ears like some sort of deranged bird screaming its song in the early morning hours.  
It's pounding into my ears, pumping through my veins, shattering the walls that I never noticed were constructed of glass until this very moment.  
This.  
Isn't.  
Enough.

It's horrifying and ridiculous and exciting but impossible and I can't stop thinking about it. About this undeniable realization that I need more.

And that's when it happened. That voice. That tiny nagging voice that has been secretly whispering sweet promises into my nonexistent ears for so long, so much longer then I realized, grew louder. It started out as just a whisper and slowly grew into fully spoken words which turned into a shout then a scream. Ringing in my head and pulling at every hidden thought and desire I'd ever locked away beneath layers of guilt.  
And then it stopped.  
Slowly, I opened the eyes that I don't really have. There is a man. He looks like a normal man that I would watch down on Earth, although I'm certain that I have never seen him before.  
He is short and husky and he has on a clean pressed suit and shiny black shoes. It's odd to see something so corporeal in this place. I would almost mistake him for human if it were not for his eyes.  
They shine black, darkened and sulfuric with every soul tainted by sin. Their color is so dark and deep that I feel like I could fall in. I feel like a small child standing at the edge of a well peering downwards. I know that if I fell in, no one would ever find me. I wouldn't be able to get out. That would be what happened and there would be no other ending to that story. But still, I can't stop staring. Down, down, down, the CERTAINTY of it all is fascinating.

_Hello Castiel._

His voice is low and gravely but its smooth and tastes like honey. The calm soothing tone of his voice doesn't match those eyes. It's almost startling in comparison.  
'What do you want?' I ask.  
I'm not stupid. I know who this man is, I know why those eyes are so dark.  
So why don't I leave? Why don't I alert the others and stop this and never turn back?  
Green forests flash through my mind.

_I'm here to make a deal._ His mouth curls slightly at the last word almost imperceptibly.  
I feel hallow and exposed, suddenly all to aware of my carelessness these past... how long has it been?

'Why would I ever want to make a deal with you?' I spit out, desperate to make my words venomous but they fall flat and hang limply in the air, awaiting his reply.

_I think we both know that Cas. Can I call you Cas?_

Suddenly an image of a human appears before me. Not just any human, it's Dean.  
I almost don't recognize him at first in this clear view. Every feature of his face is obvious and open and I can see all of him, not just his eyes, and wow he is gorgeous. I feel like this is how humans must see each other. They can see so much less yet so much more and my insides twist and turn and my mind is nothing but wanting. It's nothing but PASSION.  
I blink my pretend eyelids to clear away the image and I force myself to look back into the burning charcoals watching me with ease.

'What do you want?' This time it's broken and resigned. It's all over now. There was never anything to fight against, there was never any other option. But he already knew that.  
There was no other ending to this story.

_Your soul._ He's grinning now, eyes seeing all the way through me, making me feel completely naked and transparent.

I watch him, waiting for him to elaborate. He takes his time, obviously relishing in the fact that he's already won.

He slowly approaches me until his face is so close that I would be able to feel his breath on my face.

_I can make you mortal. I can make you human._

I flinch at the words, like someone has struck me or screamed in my face, even though the words were barely above a whisper.

'What's the catch?' I ask.

He watches me for a long moment, eyes unwavering and trained on mine. I stare back, challenging him, daring him.

I long sly smirk creeps across his face, contorting his face until its disgusting and tainted like his eyes. We are clearly over with games now. We are done with whispered promises and wishes, we are at the point I've been building up to for my entire existence.

_You get one month. He says. One month to capture his heart and if you don't I get your soul._

'How will I know that I've..?'

He pretends to ponder this deeply as he taps one slightly chubby finger against his chin.

_How about... 'true love's first kiss'_

I stare at him, studying his face to see if he's joking. He can obviously sense my scrutiny because he continues,

_Like in all those fairy tales they tell each other about love. About fate._ He wriggles his eyebrows at me.

I scowl.

_What? Don't think you can do it? Don't think you REALLY love him?_

Suddenly the image of Dean appears before me again smiling and shining and its so clear and corporeal and I feel like I could reach right out and touch him even though I don't have a real hand.

'Fine.' I say, the word burning and sizzling off of my tongue.

_What, just like that?_ He asks raising his eyebrow in disbelief.

'Yes.' I spit out, desperately trying not to make eye contact with the image of Dean.

He chuckles before asking, _So, do we have a deal then?_

I nod down at the ground, clenching my teeth and trying to ignore the pounding that has been growing louder and louder in my head. Like a someone banging a drum harder and harder until it's all just one loud endless noise.

_No, __do we have a deal?_

I look up to find him holding out a pen to me. It's red and black and engraved with odd markings that I've never seen and there is a bright white piece of paper hovering in the air beside him. His eyes are dark and serious, all humor gone.

I wish I could say that I thought about it. That I at least took a moment, a SECOND, to consider the eternally vast consequences this decision could have, but I don't. All reason was lost the moment that I saw those forest green eyes.

I reach out and grasp the pen.

As soon as I make contact with it my hand starts to burn. It feels like something is being ripped, forcibly torn away. But then I see it.  
I have a HAND.  
It's corporeal and real and there are muscles and tendons and its holding the pen and slowly, my arm is pealing away into existence.

_Sign it._ His voice is smooth and soothing again although it's a command.

I reach out quickly sketch a C onto the paper. As soon as the pen hits the page my other hand begins to burn and tingle but I don't stop, I have to finish this.

A, I grit my teeth as pain shoots up my right leg, peeling and tearing away at my being.

S, Hurry up, hurry up.

T, It's up past my knees now burning up to my stomach.

I, Tears pour from where I would have eyes, no wait, I think I do have eyes.

E, It's so close now, I can't feel anything but pain, the endless scream of the drum beat.

L, I watch as everything goes slowly goes black. The man in front of me slowly fading with it until all I'm left with is the eerie white of his smile, until even that is gone.

_Hello! My name is Maddy and this is the first fanfiction I'm publishing on here. I got inspired to write this after watching the Little Mermaid haha. I find the original story and mythology really beautiful and inspiring and I swear I've done a Little Mermaid type fanfic for every fandom I'm in XD After my sister read this she said it reminded her of the song "The Call" by Regina Spektor and I'm definitely using that song for inspiration for the rest of this story :) There will be two more chapters after this so I would LOVE it if you fallow this story and check out the last two chapters :D And of course, I love reviews and comments.  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The only thing I register is pain. It's everywhere and everything, my head and back pulsing with it. My head. My back.  
My eyes pop open. My eyes. I have eyes. I can see.  
No, I can't see, I can't see anything! Everything is flat and dull and all I see is what's in front of me.  
It takes me almost a full minute to even register what IS in front me. It's all so strange and foreign, the muted colors of blunt objects glaring me in the face, seeming to scream at me the mistake I've made.  
Trees.  
They're trees.  
That's what I'm seeing. And a car. No... that's THE car. The car I had spent so many hours watching Dean tinker with. That's Dean's Impala.  
I stare with wide eyes, slowly scanning up and down the metal glinting in the sunlight like the wavering surface of a lake.  
It burns. Everything burns. My chest, it burns, IT BURNS-  
I gasp in a deep breath and begin to cough and hack.  
The feeling of my lungs expanding and inhaling for the first time shocks me into reality like a slap to the face.  
I real upwards, overestimating and falling onto my face. I pant heavily onto the ground, dust swirling up around me in clouds.  
My fingers claw at the Earth, the nails catching on small pebbles and random patches of grass.  
Me fingers feel like a hundred spider's legs jutting out from my palms, coiling and spasming, how can I tell them all apart?  
My arms wobble and shake violently as I push myself off of the ground, the feeling of my bones creaking and the muscles beneath my paper-thin skin clenching and straining.  
I can feel EVERYTHING, but at the same time I am blinded. Fumbling around in a vast ocean so dark and flat and dull. The view directly in front of me the only thing I can see.  
I am slowly losing the battle with my arms and I know it. I flop back to the ground, gravity shoving me downwards like lead. Everything is SO heavy.

"Whoa, are you ok?"

The words ring in my ears, pouring in like some sort of burning copper, swirling and spinning and desperately trying to make sense in my head.

I slowly drag my face upwards until I can just see the person standing in front of me.  
It's him. That's Dean! My brain screams.  
No matter how many times the words repeat I can't get them to make sense.  
That's Dean! That's Dean! That's Dean!

"Hey man, are you alright?"

He's talking. My brain says. He's asking me a question and I can hear it with my ears. I'm supposed to respond with language.

I slowly part my lips and unclench my teeth, my mouth opens wide, ready for words to come out.  
Silence.  
Speak! My brain screams.

"Aaah.." The sound slips out of my mouth choked and meaningless.

"HEY SAM GIVE ME SOME HELP OUT HERE!"

Everything turns into a blur. Feet are rushing towards me and suddenly hands are-  
I'm being touched. I can feel their hands, the warmth, the pads of their fingers brushing against my flesh.  
I'm suddenly inside the house, hoisted over two pairs of arms and dropped onto a couch that bounces slightly beneath my weight.

This is it. This is the couch I used to watch him on.  
I roll my eyes to the left of their sockets.  
That's where he puts his beer cans.  
And that's the remote control he uses.

My gaze is forced off of the lump of plastic sat next to me when I feel a soft material cover me.

"-ou ok?!"

It's Sam. Dean's brother. The one that makes him worry sometimes. I feel my eyebrows scrunch and I realize that my eyes are stinging.

Blink. I tell myself.  
I pull my eyelids downward, falling into blackness before reality comes rushing back at me. I do this a few more times. It's like hurtling back and forth through a darkened tunnel. In, out, in, out, i-

"Dude, he's trippin' balls." I hear a voice say behind Sam, amusement laced in his tone.  
Wait, that's Dean's voice.

"Dean." I blink a couple times, confused on who said that because neither one of their mouths had moved.

"Dean." I say again, my voice is hoarse and ragged and it sounds so faraway and distant, like it couldn't possibly have come from me.

Sam pulls up and away from me and turns to Dean with a questioning look.  
"Do I... Know you?"

I look back and forth.

I slide my finger up across the blanket covering my lower half. The material scrapes gently across the tiny ridges and pores in my flesh. Every minute fiber bending and twisting from my touch. And then, finally, it hits me.

"I... fell." I say. The words come out just like they're supposed to. My vocal chords moving and creating noises together in tandem, and the noises turning into words and slipping past my lips.

"Off of what?" Dean snorts.  
Sam holds up a hand.  
"What do you mean?"

"I fell... from grace."

This seems to get both of their attention because their eyes widen and Dean suddenly pulls in closer to me.

"You're... an angel?" His voice is quiet and questioning, but there's a hint of a threat there. Just barely visible laced with the calm of his tone.

I slowly shake my head.

"No. Not any more."  
The words pour onto me like a bucket of ice water as soon as they escape my mouth.  
Everything suddenly seems important, really, REALLY important. I need to touch him, I need to make sure this is real.

"Dean." I say his name with more urgency now lifting my hands out towards him, fingers grasping vaguely in his direction.

Dean's eyes dart towards Sam with hesitance. He slowly leans forward a bit farther, so that our faces are only a few feet apart.

"Dean." I say again. This is how I imagined it would feel. How the name would roll off of my tongue like a prayer I've memorized a thousand times over.

"Dean. Dean. Dean." I say it again and again, focusing on the way my tongue curls in my mouth and way my throat vibrates and hums with the word.

My twitching fingers reach out farther. As soon as the pad of my index finger brushes his cheek I jerk back in surprise like I've been electrocuted. He flinches in surprise at my reaction.

His eyes are trained onto mine, focused and confused, and oh... those eyes.

Everything seems so dull and muted but those forests shine brighter than any heavenly light I've ever seen.  
Everything feels foreign and wrong, like when you first wake up and you can't figure out where you are because you've fallen asleep in an odd place.  
But no, those eyes.  
They are the same.  
Exactly the same.  
Those are the eyes I've seen laugh and crinkle at the sides and the eyes I have seen glazed over and hallow with nothing but the flickering light of the television screen shining against them.  
I don't even realize that I'm touching his face again until his hand grabs mine and pulls it away.

"How do you know my name?" His eyes have darkened now, suspicion and worry tunneling in from all sides. His tone is low and monotone, grating through my eardrums.

I open my mouth to speak but I can't. What am I supposed to say?

My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping in air, begging God for the correct words to come out although I know he is not listening.  
Those forests are still trained on me, digging into me and probing for answers and it makes it hard to keep breathing.

I plead with him, begging with my eyes for him to understand why I am here. What this means.

His eyes soften slightly, the acidic green calming slowly until it's a still lake after a storm.  
"Dean-"  
"Grab him some clothes." Dean orders, not tearing his eyes from mine.  
Sam looks like he's going to argue but when his eyes flicker to me he seems to reconsider.

He walks into a back room and quickly returns with a bundle of cloth in his arms.  
"Here, put these on."

It's only once Sam returns that Dean pulls away from me. The room feels much more open and void without his eyes there, consuming me and anchoring me to the ground.

I accept the clothing and frown at the buttons. My fingers quiver and shake as I attempt to work them open. Why is this so hard? None of them will move when I want them to, every joint bending and curling at the wrong time.  
I finally manage to get the last button undone before sliding the material over my broad shoulders.  
I wonder what I look like. What does my face look like?

I don't notice how long I've been attempting to do the first button on my shirt until I feel fingers briskly brush mine aside and push the first button through the hole.

"What's wrong with your fingers?" The question is directed at me, I realize.

I look down to the hands that are now sitting in my lap, my fingers pointed up towards me accusingly.

"I've never had them before." I answer honestly, wiggling them experimentally.

His eyes flicker up to my face and there's something there, an emotion, but I can't quite tell what it is.

I wriggle on the pair of boxer shorts that Sam offers me next and Dean offers his hand out towards me.

Standing up is one of the strangest feelings I've ever experienced.  
I hear the blood rushing in from my head and the bones creaking in my legs and muscles tightening and contracting on instinct.  
It's odd, in a way that feels like I suddenly have a skill that I have never practiced before.  
Like I just picked up a brush and painted a masterpiece across a blank canvas.  
Although surely it is not that amazing. This is all part of the deal. At least I know that he plays fair.

I wobble for a moment, teetering precariously in the nonexistent wind. I feel like a giraffe that has stood up for the first time.

Cheap shampoo. And car oil. There's something beneath it all enveloping me and taking me over and filling up my being.

It's Dean, I realize. He's holding onto my arm, bracing me against himself as I attempt to stand on my new found legs.  
I press my faces into the warmth of his shirt, inhaling and squeezing my eyes shut.  
This smell is so intoxicating and inviting, it's so FAMILIAR.  
But I know that's not possible. I've never even had a nose before now.

I look up to his face and realize that he's staring at me with confusion, worry, and a hint of bewilderment.  
For some reason I feel the corners of my lips twitch, pulling upwards towards my eyes.  
Smiling. I'm smiling. I feel... happy.  
He quickly releases me and steps away and I stumble a bit but I catch myself, which I'm pretty proud of.  
"Pants." Sam says handing the article of clothing out to me, looking questioningly from me to Dean who is now facing away from me, his eyebrows knit together and his lower lip bitten between his teeth.

Even with all of the clothing on I feel slightly cold without my contact with Dean. Maybe I'm only cold in comparison though. Temperature is new to me.

I can feel the tension in the room, building and feeding on itself. It's like a chord being pulled tighter and tighter, everyone just waiting for it to snap.

"So... why are you here?" Sam asked, his eyes subconsciously flickering to Dean.  
His eyes aren't like Dean's at all. They're a stunning blue-ish grey, flecks of gold spiraling inward and jutting out from the pupil. They are a cacophony of emotion and past betrayal, care and love, all spiraling round and round, and they are completely and utterly, boring.

I glance over to Dean who is still not making eye contact with me.

"I need... I place to stay."

This seems to snap Dean out of his trance because his head jerks upwards and his head starts shaking frantically.

"Ooooh no. No, no, no, no. You are NOT staying here."

Suddenly panic wells inside of me. I can't leave! I have no where to go.  
Somehow the thought of being any farther away from Dean then I am right now is almost painful. No, it IS painful. I can hear that drum beat, starting slowly and building in my ears again. Over and over and over and-

"I have to!"

They both look slightly taken aback at my outburst.

I watch as Dean's eyes narrow and he leans in so dangerously close. His breath ghosts across my nose and I think it would be nice if it weren't for the threatening look in his eyes and the shiver running down my spine like cold water trickling along bone.

"_Why are you here?_" His voice is serious and menacing, and he has the look in his eyes that feels like it could turn me to stone.

"I... made a deal." His eyes don't change, fixed onto mine with deadly precision, he waits for more.  
"I made a deal with the King of Hell." I finish.

Dean looks surprisingly un-fazed by this confession while Sam's eyes widen slightly and he shifts from one foot to the other anxiously.

"Why? I was pretty sure that anyone even slightly involved with the supernatural knew that making a deal with Crowley is pretty much the dumbest idea since canned bread."

His eyes bore into me, awaiting an answer.

"I... I had to."

"WHY?"

"Look," Sam steps in and moves Dean away from me, "We can take you to a hotel or something, call in a favor-"

"No! Please, I have to stay here!" My voice wavers and cracks with the force of my words. Please understand, please understand, please understand.

"How long?" Sam asks me, pain shielded behind the glassy blue mirrors of his eyes.

"Until w-"

"Until he has your soul." Dean finishes. There's something in the way he says it, some sort of regret, some past memory clutching onto the words like a parasite.

I swipe my tongue across my dry lips.

"One month."

That look is back on Dean's face, the one I can't decipher.

"Why only a month? He usually gives people years." The suspicion in his voice is heavy, hanging over me, making me feel guilty for something I can't quite figure out.

"I... don't..." I'm unable to look at him now, eyes desperately scanning the room, looking for an answer that is nowhere to be found.

I force my eyes back to his.

"_Please._"

His eyes are crackling and smoldering, the forests digging into me like knives with such intensity but I can't look away, I can't lose this. It's all that I have left.

I have to make him understand, I have to explain to him the words that cannot be said.

"Fine. You can stay in one of the spare rooms." He says abruptly.

I blink, unsure if I fully understand.

"Dean, w-"

"He's human Sam, he can't do anything to us. We have everything valuable locked away anyway. What does it matter?"

"But why-"

"I'll show you where you can sleep." Dean heads off in another direction and I stand dumbfounded.  
I look to Sam but he looks just as shocked and unsure of this situation as I am.  
Only when Dean has almost disappeared around a corner do I hurry after him, leaving Sam standing silently in the living room like a statue.

"You can crash here." Dean says motioning to a large ornate room slightly obscured by the door that is half closed.

I push it open carefully, listening to the quiet creak of the metal bounce off of the heavily insulated walls.

The room is beautiful, just like the rest of the ancient bunker they have taken refuge in. The old wooden bed frame has intricate carvings that twirl and form into vines and shapes and there is a tall armoire standing watch to my right. It smells musty and unused and some part of me wishes that it smelled the way Dean's shirt does.

"We were just about to leave on a case. Someplace a ways North from here. We take everything valuable with us and everything else is locked up so don't bother trying to steal anything." It sounds like he's trying to convince himself of something more than me.

"The bathroom is down the hall to the right. There's food in the fridge but not much. Don't touch the beer."

He turns to leave but hesitates in the doorway before turning back to face me once more.  
He gives me one last unsure glance before shutting the heavy wooden door and leaving me with my thoughts.

_Hello! If you are still reading this far you are super awesome! I got a super amazing nice review and I just want to say that you made me super happy and definitely inspire me to keep writing! The next chapter is going to be pretty packed with stuff so I'm excited to publish it! Although, I think i may have to lengthen this story to four chapters because I want all of the chapters to be relatively the same length. But that's as long as it will be. (probably) I love reviews and comments and I hope you continue to read!_  
_-Maddy_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dreaming is not the way I expect it to be.  
I always had the assumption that you were aware that you were dreaming when it happened, but this, this was REAL.

The colors are vivid and swirling in the air around me, like fog or billowing smoke, except it's sticky and vicious, clinging to my skin and sliding easily down my throat.

I choke and cough and it all tastes like copper but it doesn't stop.

The drum beat is coming. It's getting closer and closer snapping in my ears and making my heart ache with the bass of it.

I watch as images start to appear in the smoke, bodies I realize, slowly bubbling and fading into existence.  
That's Dean! I realize. Despite the syrupy colors pouring and clogging my throat and the aching pain of the drum beat pounding and pounding I smile and reach out towards him.

Who is he with?  
That's me.  
I'm with Dean.  
I don't know how I know that it is me, because it doesn't look like me, but I know.

We are tangled in sheets, bodies stuck together like glue from the sweat and heavy breathing.  
Our fingers are entwined, laced together like thread, chests clashing together with our rapid breathing.

I'm staring into his eyes, the forests gazing up at me adoringly.

It's such a beautiful image, so intimate and perfect, but I feel my smile slip away.  
The colors are pouring into my lungs now, sloshing and boiling, a disgusting dark brown mixture of a thousand different hues.

Something is wrong.

Those forests that make everything else dissappear and fill me with everything I am and ever will be suddenly start turning acidic. They bubble and hiss and seem to be sucking out everything from inside of me, slowly reducing me to a husk of skin and bone.

That adoring smile doesn't leave though, the eerie white of his teeth striking familiarity in my mind. I can't help but notice that there aren't crinkles around his eyes.

I cry out in pain as I feel the skin of my back pierced.

Dean's fingernails have grown into talons, piercing through my thin flesh and holding my in place as he stares.  
I whip around to look at my back and I can feel the colors sloshing around deep inside of me. There are thick lines of scarlet slowly trailing down the curve of my naked back.

Do something! DO SOMETHING! I try and shout but a thick mixture of colors comes spewing out and dribbles down my chin.  
Please stop!

The image of me just lies there, staring lovingly down at those eyes, that are so, so wrong as they continue to dig into me, scraping out the last of me like a hallow pumpkin.

Dean's face begins to change. As it transforms the bones crackle and I can hear tendons snapping and skin stretching. Long black hairs sprout from the pores in his skin and his face is elongated.  
He is now a rabid dog, snapping and gnashing it's teeth at me. The white froth at his lips sprays and bubbles as he shakes violently back and forth.

The liquid filling me up is so much now, my lungs feel like they are going to pop, it's backing up and coming up my throat.

I open my mouth wide and scream.

When my eyes open it takes me a moment to figure out what the noise is. It's my mouth, open wide with a tiny almost silent cry pouring out.  
I gasp in a breath and sit bolt upright in the darkness, my fingers grasping so tightly at the sheets they almost tear.

My breath comes in ragged and my lungs ache like I haven't been breathing the entire time I was asleep.

My whole body feels like ice, the clothing Sam has given me earlier sticking to my wet skin like I'd been dunked in water.

Sweat. It's sweat, I realize.  
I bring my shaking hand up to my lips and feel a wetness there.  
I'm crying.  
I swipe my fingers across my cheeks and hold them our for me to see.  
I tentatively sniff the liquid and flick out my tongue.  
It tastes like salt. I thought that was a myth.

On unstable legs a pull myself out of bed and carefully make my way out of my bedroom and down the long desolate hallway to the bathroom, right where Dean had said it would be.

Dean and Sam were nowhere to be found as promised. They must have left sometime while I slept.

_"Why are you trusting him Dean? Why on Earth would you let him stay here? We don't even know who he is."_

_"What, we're just going to let him die out there? I don't think that's exactly in the Hunter's policy Sam."_

_"Why does he have to stay here?"_

_"What's he going to do to us? He can't steal anything, one of us is almost always awake so he's not going to hurt us, the guy can't even do his damn buttons!"_

_There's a pause._

_"That's not what I asked Dean."_

The memories of their harsh words heard through the thick wooden door make me flinch and cause a painful twinge in my heart.  
There are so many questions I have, but I think it best not to wonder.  
Wondering is what caused all of this in the first place.

After using the toilet, (Which is VERY odd, and I don't think I will ever get used to), I stare at myself in the mirror.

I haven't really thought about it yet, but I appear to be male.  
We had no genders in heaven and it is a completely foreign concept but I vaguely wonder in the back of my mind if this will be a problem. Dean seems to have taking a liking to the female gender but I can't say that I fully understand this concept. He's taking a liking to them in the sexual way in any case.

The thought brings back the image of the two of us tangled in the bed sheets, our fingers entwined.  
I clench my teeth and drag my fingers through my tousled sleep ridden hair.  
Sexual attraction and lust are not emotions that I am familiar with and I can see why humans find them hard to control.

I slowly trail my fingers across the arch of my cheekbone, smiling at the feel of the prickle of hairs that have sprung forward. Hair is so odd.

My nose is prominent and I seem to have deep brown, almost black hair. It's cut differently then Dean's though.

My eyes are the thing that interest me the most. They are a deep blue with lighter flecks mixed in, yet they remind me of the Earth. Staring into them in the mirror is like looking into my own soul, deeper and deeper, drowning in the blue pools, until I force myself out; not wanting to get trapped forever.

There's something about my entire physique that doesn't look quite right. Like a really realistic mask tied over my face. Maybe it only looks that way to me though.

Sam and Dean don't return for three days and when they do they look weathered and sore like they've just returned from a great battle, although there are no visible scars except for a small cut under Sam's right eye.

When they first walk in Dean looks almost surprised to see me perched on the couch with the television playing an old show from the early 90's.  
I only barely make eye contact with him before I quickly pull myself up and make my way back to my room.

It's been almost a week now, and we've still barely spoken a word.  
Sam has tried asking me questions, but I never know how to answer. He eventually gave up after the fourth round of pained silence and went back to researching and doing what hunter's do.

Dean hasn't been making a point to avoid me or ignore me but every time I see him all I see is the vivid image of that dream and remember the feeling of the burning colors filling my lungs and I can't get myself to speak.  
He hasn't asked me for my name although I hear him use it when they talk about me so I assume that Sam must have told him.

I tend to keep to my room, only leaving to eat small amounts of food and use the restroom. On my third day here I found a large library deep within the bunker and I've started lugging large armfuls back to my room.  
All of the books here are ancient texts and records of the supernatural, mythological, and biblical beings so I naturally already know the majority of it, but it's interesting to see how humans record and categorize things.  
I'm almost tempted to fix and write in things every once in awhile but I tell myself that it isn't for the best.

The days all seem to start melding together, turning into one long endless existence that reminds me of the pounding drum beat.  
The constant worry and anxiety feel like they are going to drive me mad.  
I tell myself over and over not to wonder, not to think, but I can't help but feel that I never should have made that deal. Despite the fact that I would never be happy, everything would at least still make sense. I wouldn't be stuck in a world of death and emotion and twisted words and sharp edges that can cause me pain.  
But I know there is no point in thinking about this. There is no way to take back what I've done. And even if I could I wouldn't. Despite the fact that the King of Hell will have my soul in a matter of weeks still doesn't stop me from thinking about his eyes.

When I hear the knock on my door it's a Sunday I think. I'm sitting cross legged on the ancient mattress with an old book of Greek mythology resting in the warm palms of my hands.

I see Dean's head peek around the edge and I feel my insides jump but my body stays motionless in place.

"Hey, do you wanna drink?"  
I look from to my left almost expecting there to be someone else he's asking.

I watch him for a moment trying to decide whether he's joking.

"Yes."

He nods vaguely before disappearing and I take this as my cue to fallow him.

"Is this fine?" He asks me holding out a can of beer towards me once we're both standing in the small kitchen.

"I thought I wasn't supposed to drink your beer?" I ask pushing my eyebrows together.

"Well I'm offering it to you so just take it." He responds rolling his eyes and tossing it at me.

I fumble with it and nearly drop it but manage to keep it safely secured in my hands. When I glance back up at him he's already taking a long swig from his glass bottle.

I crack open my can carefully and sniff at it hesitantly before taking a cautious sip.

"Why do you drink this? it doesn't taste good." I ask him, wrinkling my nose at the beverage.

"Makes you feel good." He informs me after another drink.

I stare at the frothy golden liquid in the can in my hands. I would like to feel good right about now.

We stand in the kitchen for a few minutes just drinking in silence both of our backs leaning against the cool kitchen counter.

"Where is Sam?" I finally ask when my can is almost empty. I look around half expecting him to suddenly emerge from the next room. The two are usually never too far apart.

"Went to check out a case. It didn't seem like a big one, just some weird animal deaths, and it's not too far from here so he went alone." He sets his bottle down on the marble counter with a thunk and opens the refrigerator to grab another.

"Oh." I reply, unsure of what else to say.

"You can't stay here the whole time." He informs me as he pops the cap of his beer off on the edge of the counter, a habit that I know Sam hates. "Not when Crowley sends his hounds for your soul. I'm not going to put Sam and I in more danger."

I stare down into the small amount of luke-warm liquid in my can before drinking the last of it down in one gulp.

"I know... I won't."  
"OK."

The air is suddenly heavy and thick, it makes me feel like I need to breathe harder and swallow a few times.  
My tongue is starting to feel heavy and too big for my mouth and I don't like it.  
I knew this was coming but I expected Sam to be the one to tell me.

There's a look in his eyes that makes me shift and look away awkwardly.

"Look, man if there's anything I could do?"

I stare at him pleadingly, begging him for something I know he cannot give.

"Could I... have another beer?" I ask quietly.

The side of his mouth quirks up slightly and I feel my stomach flip.

"Sure."

I don't know how long we've been sitting here sprawled out on the cold tile of the kitchen floor but it feels like days.  
I'm lying flat on my back while Dean is sitting against the wall of the counter.  
Empty beer cans, a bottle of vodka, and an old radio that Dean had found at some point littered the floor.  
I think we started talking after my third beer and I think it was Dean's fourth.  
I'm not even sure what we're talking about anymore, I'm just enjoying his gruff voice floating around in the thick intoxicating air.

"Like, what? Did God just go like, 'Yeah this stuff is pretty cool' and like just friggin put it everywhere? I think God needs to calm down with the fuckin' confetti."

Oh that's right, we're talking about grass.

"I like it." I say, my voice sounds far away again, like when I first fell. "It's a nice color, and there are lots of things hidden in it." I'm smiling up at the ceiling watching the wood shift and turn beneath my gaze.

"But WHY though? Why grass?" He asks, his voice is bouncing off of the walls, seeming to clink and collide into the bottles strewn across the floor.

"Why does God do anything?" I ask. The light feeling in my head is suddenly replaced with thick glue, clogging me and making it hard to think. It feels like I'm sinking downwards, stuck to the floor and slowly being pulled down, down, down...

Dean furrows his brow and turns to look at me. He looks like he's about to ask me a question when a new song starts to play from the small worn-out speakers of the radio.

He grins and leans his head back against the cabinets below the counter and begins to sing along quietly under his breath.  
Without thinking I open my mouth and mumble along with him.  
He turns to me with a lazy smile, "You know this song?"

"Mm, just from listening to you sing it." The words I'm saying don't really matter to me anymore, I just keep thinking about how far down I could sink. Farther and farther. How far until I can't fall anymore?

Suddenly there are a pair of green eyes hovering just a few inches from mine.

"Why are you here?" He asks me. His tone isn't angry or suspicious, it just a question. This small simple question that seems so meaningless and unimportant in the dark hazy light of this kitchen mixed with the smell of alcohol and bleach on the floor.

"I don't know." I answer, it's barely above a whisper, just barely pushed out in a low mutter. It sounds weak and ridiculous but it couldn't be more true.

His eyes are trained on mine, there is no hint of anger or even annoyance, just confusion.  
For the first time it looks like he's asking me for something, begging me, but I don't know how to answer or explain.

"Why do your eyes always look like that?" He asks me. He looks like he wants to touch me but he doesn't, just stares down at me with an unreadable expression.

"Like what?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows trying to figure out in my drunken haze what he means.

"They always look so sad." He says, and then he does touch me, just lightly on the forehead with two fingers where my skin is scrunched from worry.

I feel like I need to say something right now, something perfect that will stitch together this mess of a situation. Pull it back together with one precise flick of my hand, the thread tightening and pulling until it's sewn together and it all makes sense again.  
But I don't know what to say. I don't think there is anything TO say.

But then there's a rush of heat and I realize that his lips are on mine.

It doesn't feel the way I expect it to, not the way that it's described in the fairy tales. It's brief and his lips are chapped and impossibly hot against mine and when he pulls away we realize that neither one of us closed our eyes but it doesn't matter because I kiss him again and he isn't pulling away and I realize that this is probably the best moment of my thousands of years of existence.

The kisses turn faster and greedier, nothing but lips and teeth and stolen breath. I hear a bottle clink to the floor beside us but it barely registers because this is so much more intoxicating then any drink. I'm lost in it, the heat and the way his lips and tongue pry at mine, and that sound he's making in the back of his throat.

It all seems so surreal and impossible but I've never felt so anchored and complete.  
When his lips separate from mine and I feel his hand slide across my taut stomach I gasp because I finally realize that this is the reason I can't stop.  
This is the reason why I kept coming back, kept wandering those empty streets with the shining lights.  
This is it.

I don't even realise that we're off of the floor now; I'm so lost to it all. He's pulling me forward, his lips breaking away from mine only to be back in an instant, devouring and pulling at my core.

I don't think I would have realized what room we were in until I was hit by the smell.  
It's Dean.  
We're in Dean's room.

I feel myself pressed against the cold wood of the door as it clicks shut and his hands dig into my hair.  
My hands are clawing at his back desperately, twisting the fabric and trying to keep up with the feverish kisses.  
I open my eyes and find another pair staring back at mine. We slowly pull apart, our bodies still pushed flush together, breathing heavily.

"I didn't know you were sexually attracted to males." I said, finding myself staring down at his lips, an aching need pooling in the pit of my gut.

"I didn't either." He says before pressing his kiss swollen lips back to mine.

I close my eyes to it, relishing in the insanity of it all. None of this makes any sense. But not in a way that makes me panic or question it, just in a way that feels like I'm falling, faster and faster, hurtling downwards, but all I can do is laugh.

It's not until nearly two hours later that I realize.  
I'm laying beside a gently snoring Dean in his bed. I watch the steady rise and fall of his back as he breathes deeply into his mattress with the thin white sheet tangled and wrapped haphazardly around his legs.  
My eyes wander up to the ceiling and I slowly fallow a crack etched there.  
It's then that I realize.  
We had kissed, but the drum beat is still pounding in my ears.

_Hello! Welcome to the end of the third chapter! I'm sorry if you were hoping for smut but I really wanted to leave it out of this story. I do write smut but I just feel like that's not what I wanted this story to be about. If that makes any sense... Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter and __I'm pretty sure the next chapter is going to be the last! I love reviews and comments and I can't wait to hear what people think!_  
_-Maddy_


	4. The End

Chapter 4

After that night the days seem to start passing by in a blur. Nothing but foliage hurtling past my window in a speeding car.

We seem to have made some sort of unspoken deal. I'm not sure if this is common in human culture but my gut tells me that it isn't. What we're doing feels wrong.  
Like a poison slowly working its way into my system, burning my insides and making me ill, but it's so intoxicating and addictive.

His kisses taste like sickly sweet cherries mixed with malt liquor. It all feels so sinful and hallow, it reminds me of how I used to feel up in heaven when I would try to stop watching. That all feels so long ago now. So far away.

_Oh, how far you have fallen._

I don't respond to the voice this time; the words are silent and meaningless on deaf ears. Nothing but a tiny red string threaded through the hammering drum beat.

I don't think I have ever truly sinned before. If I had I would have been cast out, my soul tainted and rotten from my betrayal. But that's how I feel now isn't it?  
This feels like sin.  
How could I think that a deal with the King would mean anything else?  
How could I have fallen so far?

_The silence is deafening, ringing and screaming and begging to be broken._

_"I haven't done that before."_

_I look up with a start, his gruff words shattering the silence like a thousand panes of glass crashing to the ground in waves._

_I watch him, eyes fixed on his that are looking anywhere in the room but mine._  
_He's buttoning up his shirt, fingers steady and even, although his eyes seem to be trembling with the uncertainty he won't allow his body to show._

_"With a guy I mean." He clarifies as he finishes the last button._

_"I'm not really..." I start but falter when his eyes finally clash with mine. They are dangerous and absolutely DARING me to say more._

_My eyes flicker away, crackling and fizzling into nothing._

_Silence. Silence is all I can hear. Nothing but the blood pumping in my ears and the hum of the drum beat ever present._

_He suddenly turns to me, his eyes are softer and questioning, pulling at me and begging for something._  
_I watch as his jaw tightens and slowly unhinges as he prepares to say something but he's interrupted by the distant sound of the front door swinging open and worn boots scuffing on the polished wood floor._

_"Don't tell Sam."_  
_His eyes don't change. They're questioning and unsure, but I can sense something else there._  
_He's pleading with me, those green forests dull and muted._

_I nod, just once. It's all that is needed._

_Those words, those three words seem to fill me up, drowning me and choking me like the vivid colors in my dreams._

_We stare for just a moment more, nothing but green forests and pools of earthy blue before he turns on his heel and leaves._

_I hear the muffled sound of cheerful greetings and Dean's usual barrage of questions and I quickly yank on my shirt._  
_I pad my way across the room on cold bare feet and slip as quietly down the hallway as I can._  
_I pretend that I can feel Dean's eyes on me, but I know that he isn't really looking._

It's only two days later that it happens again.  
The case Sam had been on had turned out to be more than they'd originally thought and Sam had come back to get backup and more weapons. Dean wouldn't explain why he hadn't been answering his cell phone.

it was two days later that Dean returned, practically falling through the door on a gust of wind, grains of salt sticking to the thin layer of sweat on his skin and dark brown-ish red on his jacket.

I jump from the couch and move towards him cautiously. His face is level with the ground and he's breathing heavily like he's just run a marathon although I'm positive he must have drove back in the Impala.

His head suddenly whips up to see me standing in front of him nervously.

"Are you alright?" I ask. "Are you injured? Do you need assistance?"

He's only inches away from me in such a quick movement I don't even have time to notice the heat radiating from his damp skin.

My breath catches in my throat when his hands dig into my hair. I tilt my head slightly into his hold to lessen the tug on my scalp from his gruff fingers.

He's looking at me so intensely, confusion crippling his usually bright features.  
Why is he looking at me like that?  
Suddenly any questions I have are stolen by his lips on mine, rough and demanding.  
I breath him in, not fully understanding how much I missed it until I had it back.

My consciousness is nothing but playfully nipping teeth and strategic tongues, pulling and lapping at my being. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is even here.

I'm on my back now, sinking into the endless down of his bed.

He pulls back and looks at me. He looks and looks and looks.  
I hadn't even noticed his black eye until now. It's a deep purple, staining his skin without mercy.

"I thought about you." He says it with such certainty, yet he almost asks it like a question. I don't know what to say so I kiss him again.

Dean later explained to me that this is just "pillow talk", something that humans do in bed, they are words simply meant to arouse the body and mind.  
Those four sweet words that seemed to mean so much are now just a heavy layer of ice over my heart, pulling and weighing it down until it feels like a solid block of ice in my chest.

As we lay in his bed in more deafening silence, I slowly fallow the crack in the ceiling with my eyes.

"Where is Sam?" I ask as I reach the far end of the crack and slowly begin working my way back up again.

"Just finishing and tying up loose ends with the case." His voice is distant and far away, eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling, squinted and angry at something that isn't really there.

I suddenly pull myself out of the false comfort of his bed and step back into my borrowed pants.  
As I shut the heavy wooden door behind me I feel like I should feel satisfied that this time, I'm the one leaving him alone in his room; but I don't.

It becomes a pattern. Almost a routine.  
No.  
A routine doesn't have any passion.  
This feels like a habit. A dirty habit that we can't quit.  
No.  
That _he_ can't quit.

Every time feels slightly more surreal than the last.  
When we are rocking together in the sheets, slowly building towards release, even afterwards, just lying in his bed in that aching silence, I still feel like I'm building up. That chord that has been slowly pulled tighter and tighter since the moment I first saw those green forests is only being forced a little farther. I feel like I'm going to break, going to snap and shatter to the ground in nothing but disjointed splinters of bone and glass. But I don't. I'm still here and the tension of the chord is ever present and so, so painful.

It reminds me of my years wandering the empty streets and the eerie light of the television screen shining against Dean's hallow eyes.

This is a habit. A habit that maybe we both should stop.  
But neither of us do.

The sound of high pitched giggles and a door slamming startle me away from the cryptic words scrawled across ancient paper.

I'd been reading one of the hundreds of books shelved in the bunker's library when an unfamiliar voice and clacking had me pressing my ear against the cold oak door.

Who is that? It's nearly five o' clock in the morning who could be here at this dead time if night? Should I alert Sam or-

"Sshhh, you'll wake up Sammy."  
That was Dean's voice. It's muffled and distant through the door but I can hear how it's slurring and dropping a bit. He's drunk. Really drunk. It makes me think of the first night that our habit had started. It all sounds familiar in a sickeningly empty way.

The words and giggling are replaced by the wet smack of lips connecting and the clack of heels and boots stumbling towards Dean's bedroom.

I don't feel anything really. I just press closer to the door.  
It feels important that I hear this. I don't know why. I just press harder and harder trying to hear every sound. I keep telling myself to listen harder. I need to hear this. I need to realize what this really is.

Suddenly, the noises grow almost inaudible behind the click of another door closing.  
They're in his room, I realize.

I've opened my door and made my way to his before I can even contemplate whether I should or not.

All I can hear is the constant smack of lips and small gasps and the rustling of clothing as it hits the floor. It somehow seems quieter than when we do it. There's much less pillow-talk.

I can't stand it anymore. I pull my ear away from the door and slowly sink to the floor, my back pressed against the insulated wall.  
I press my hands to my ears desperately trying to drown it out, but the kissing and subtle brush of skin on skin is deafening. It's screaming and constant and I can't make it stop. Please stop, please stop.  
I would rather have the sound of our aching silence any day.  
_Oh, how far you hav-_

Like a prayer answered from God, the noises stop.

I slowly open my eyes and lean in closer to the door.  
There's a creaking sound of springs shifting in the mattress then muffled voices.  
I hear clothing shifting and the voices grow slightly louder.  
That's not Dean's voice though, that's the higher voice, the one that kept giggling and making odd choked off whines against his lips.

I jump when the door suddenly swings open and just narrowly miss getting smacked in the face.  
The sound of harshly clacking heels and angrily muttered words under liquor scented breath echo through the house.  
She doesn't see me, the stranger sitting against the wall with widened eyes and twitching fingers. I watch the hem of her deep red dress swish and brush angrily against her thighs as she storms her way across the living room and towards the front door.  
As she wrenches the door open and steps into the darkened night air she turns around once more to yell back in his direction. I only see her face for a split second, angry spirals of blue eyes framed by thick bed-mussed brown hair as she yells, "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough for you!" Before slamming the door.

Once the screech of her cry has stopped echoing I'm surrounded by silence, empty and void.

Why did she leave?  
The ice over my heart feels heavier, dragging downwards until it feels like a solid brick in my stomach.  
I don't want to hear this anymore. I don't want to hear this silence.  
But something inside me forces me to stand and slowly peer into the open doorway of Dean's bedroom.

He's sat at the foot of his bed, his hands clasped over his face, his shirtless form the perfect image of hopelessness.

I cringe when an old floor board creeks beneath my feet and watch in horror as his head whips up to see me.

He looks confused at first. Like it's the most impossible thing in the world that I would be standing here. But then his eyes settle, like stone settling into the earth, like roots digging downward and setting in place.

"Are you OK?" I ask, my voice is nothing but a hoarse whisper, cracking with fear that's clinging to every syllable.

"No." He answers, eyes never leaving mine.  
He's off the bed in an instant and this time when he kisses me it's different.  
Through the haze of lust and alcohol he tastes... different.  
I don't try to fight it or pull away, just fall right into his familiar embrace.  
The kisses are fast and desperate, moans cut off quickly and precisely. It all feels so important, so very important that this happens RIGHT NOW.

At some point when we are tangled in the sheets together, our kisses finally slow, our breathing evening out and calming.  
His hand slowly slides along the sheets until our fingers are laced, woven together tightly.  
The kisses stop altogether and I open my eyes to find him staring into me.  
Our breathing is synchronized, mixing together in the heady air above our heads. For the first time there is nothing between us. Our skin sticks and clings together from our sweat and I'm completely filled with nothing but his scent. With nothing but him.  
This is nothing like the colors in my dreams. I don't feel choked or drowned, I just feel completely full. I feel completely full for the first time in all of my thousands of years of existence.  
His eyes are different then I have ever seen them. So open and vulnerable and they seem to be whispering something to me.  
It's all so overwhelming and satisfying and IMPOSSIBLE that I don't even notice that the drum beat is barely louder than I whisper.

It's so close now, the drum beat is coursing through my veins, erasing every other emotion or promise.  
Today is my last day.  
I haven't said anything and I don't think I'm going to.

We haven't had intercourse since that night nearly a week ago. Since that night with the clacking of angry heels and our trembling laced fingers in the dead of night.  
We had barely spoken since then.

He was gone the next morning. Nothing but an empty space in his bed and the jagged crack in his ceiling to keep me company. For some reason I really don't feel that surprised, but that thought does little to comfort me.

Sam said that he'd left. He told me not to worry, that he just does this sometimes. That he'll be back in a couple days.  
He said that when cases get to him he sometimes just needs time to cope, to be on his own. He said that he keeps in contact and it's nothing to worry about.

I nod numbly staring down vacantly at the spaces between my fingers.  
Sam looks at me. There's something in his eyes that suggests that he knows more than he's saying.  
Sam isn't stupid, I know that.  
But I also know that there is no way he can fully know the disgusting severity of this situation.  
He's never seen those green forests look so vulnerable and open.

He did come back, just as Sam predicted. A grocery bag and store bought pie in hand and a song under his breath.  
Sam greeted him with an eye roll and news of a new case and just like that everything was back to normal.  
Except when Sam had gone back to typing away on his laptop Dean shot me a quick sidelong glance.  
There was an apology there, words desperate for me to comprehend, but not loud enough to be spoken.  
His jaw twitches in only the way that he can and his eyes travel from my face down to my fingers, and this time, I do feel his eyes on me as I walk down the hall to my room.

I'm pretty sure that everyone knows that my time is almost up, they just don't know how close it is.  
I haven't needed to count, the incessant pounding of the drum beat in my ears, the nauseating pull of the chord, and the sickeningly sweet voice in my mind are enough to tell me.

This is my last day.

No one has asked about it. No one has even spoken about it to my knowledge.  
It's like we've all just made some silent promise not to speak of it. That night that Dean told me I couldn't stay plays through my mind. I guess we aren't supposed to talk about that either.

We're all sitting around in the living room. Dean's fiddling around with one of his knives while Sam is clacking away on his laptop.  
They're preparing for a case I think.

The air is heavy and tense with words unspoken.  
Dean's eyes are dark, hooded and focused onto his hands but I feel like his thoughts are elsewhere.  
He looks faraway. Lost somewhere deep in his mind.

It's been getting harder and harder to focus all day. The drumming getting louder and louder with every passing moment.

Suddenly, everything starts to twist and contort.  
No. No not yet.  
Their familiar faces twist and rip and turn demonic and disgusting.  
I need to go. I need to go NOW.

All that is left are those green forests staring into me. I can't get myself to look away.

He's saying something now, but I can't hear it. It's so loud, nothing but endless screaming noise.

And then I'm running.  
I hear the smack of the door behind me as I hurl myself out of the house. He yells something. I think it was my name.

I feel nothing but the pounding of my feet on the gravel, boots scuffing on tufts of grass and pebbles skittering and careening away from me.

_Your time is up Castiel. It's time to pay what you promised._

"I know!" I scream into the chilled evening air.  
I think it's sometime around six o' clock at night, but it doesn't really matter. Nothing really matters anymore.

I have to run faster, I have to go farther.

I'm in the forest now. The trees whipping past me are twisting and contorting into writhing snakes, lashing and snapping. Everything is contorting and dissolving under the disgusting taint of the hounds. There are glowing eyes watching me from the darkness, laughing and burning with excitement.

"It's time! It's time!" they seem to chant.

Farther, farther, I have to get farther.

I'm suddenly hurtling to the ground from a heavy force crashing against my back.

I scream and writhe beneath it desperately trying to break free.

"NO PLEASE!"

"Cas!"

My eyes fly open upon hearing his familiar, gravely voice.  
No. No, no, no, no he can't be here.

"Dean you have to leave, please!"

His face is twisting and contorting, skin peeling and bubbling, jaw unhinging and a long snake-like tongue dipping out.

I open my mouth in a silent scream as I continue to kick viciously and fight with all of my strength against him but I have no leverage.

The hounds are so close now, I hear their pounding feet as they race towards me with inhuman speed, the drool and froth splattering the grassy earth beneath them.  
It's all over now. Can't he see that? Why is he still here? Can't he see that there was never any other end to this story?

"Cas, look at me!" His voice is barely audible over the roar of the drums but I can just make out his words.

I scream and lash out desperately as his tongue curls grotesquely and laps at my cheek.

"Cas! It's not real! Cas, please, just look at me!" His voice is so desperate. So vulnerable.  
I stop struggling and slump in defeat.  
Nothing matters anymore.

I slowly look up to find a pair of green forests staring down at me. They are streaked with fear and desperation, but those are the forests that I watched for so long. Those are the eyes that I have seen hallow and glazed over, the eyes that have dug into me, begging for answers to questions he is unwilling and incapable of asking, and those are the eyes that I have seen looking so vulnerable and adoringly down at me while we were tangled in his messy sheets.

The disgusting image of mutated flash and his lapping barbed tongue fade away and all that is left is Dean.

My Dean.

The Dean that I fell in love with so long ago high up in the clouds above those empty streets of pain and love and life.

"Cas..."  
They are so close now, I only have seconds.

"I'm so sorry." He whispers.  
The words don't make sense. They swirl into my ears and dissolve into my skin and make me gasp sharply.

"I need you Cas."

They're upon us now, I can hear it, their gnashing teeth and pounding feet sound like a thousand screams ringing in the night.

But now he's kissing me.  
His lips are on mine and for some reason, everything stops.  
The gnashing teeth and the taut chord just about to snap and the drum beat all fall silent.  
There is nothing here except his lips on mine and the deafening silence.

It's not how I expect it to be. His lips are chapped on mine and neither one of us remembers to close out eyes.

He slowly pulls back, his hands still gently cupping my cheeks, and I watch as the world slowly fades to black, until all I'm left with are those shining green forests.

When the world slowly starts to come back into focus I sit bolt upright with a start.  
My breath comes out in jagged gasps and my entire being is shaking violently.

Everything hurts.

Where am I? Is this hell?

"Cas?"

My entire body jerks violently in the direction of the voice.

"Dean?" My voice is barely a whisper, just a ghost barely slipping past my lips into the thin air. It sounds so close. It sounds so real.

Dean is sitting next to me on the bed, his face is creased and pained with worry and his eyes are so dizzying.

Slowly, hesitantly I reach out toward him.  
When my fingers ghost gently across the front of his cotton t-shirt I jerk back violently and stare at him with wide surprised eyes.

I bring my shaking fingers up to his face.

"Dean..."

And with that one word he's pulled me to him. My face buried in the crook of his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around me.

I don't know how long we stay there, wrapped up in each other's embrace, gently swaying together and sharing heat.

We eventually find ourselves laying on our sides on the mattress facing each other, our noses just barely touching, his rough hands still clasping my cheeks and brushing against the scratchy stubble that's grown there.

Finally he breaks the silence.  
"Are you... here?" He asks, his voice hoarse and worn, thread bear in the stifling air of his bedroom.

"Are you... REALLY here?"

I close my eyes and listen. I focus as hard as I can.

I can hear nothing but Dean's steady breathing and feel nothing but the warmth of Dean's palms pressed against my skin. There is no voice, no chord. There is no pounding drum beat.

"Yes." I say, smiling into those endless green forests. "Always."

With forests greener than any ocean  
The blood red strings that bind me  
Fall on deaf ears  
These wings that have been clipped  
You can easily paint back  
And these bitten words  
You can turn so sweet with a flick of your tongue  
I'm learning to love  
Barely able to crawl  
But still they shine  
Deeper than any forest  
Oh, how far you have fallen  
Oh... how far you have fallen

END

_If you read this story all the way to the end I just want to say thank you so, so, sooo much! I worked really hard on this and I really hope that you liked it and I love reviews!_  
_I'm sorry that this chapter took me so much longer to post then the others but I haven't had access to a computer in a few days. I'm sort of sad to say that this is the end to this story but I'm definitely going to be posting more fanfictions on here! I'm pretty sure that the next story I'm going to post is going to be a crenny fanfiction. If you liked my writing I would love it if you check out some of my other stories soon! Oh, and I'm definitely going to be posting more destiel too, these characters are simply too much fun to write to ever stop :) Thank you so much for reading! You are awesome!_  
_-Maddy_


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